If You Can’t Tell, I’m Scared As Hell
by BritishGirlWhoWrites
Summary: “And I am going to find you. I promise that I’m going to find you.” [2.17 - based on the deleted scene where Toni calls Cheryl whilst she’s at the SoQM]


Thirty-two outgoing text messages, six hours, a million social media refreshes and one visit to Thistle House later, Toni was coming to the conclusion she had dreaded having to admit.

Cheryl was missing.

Cheryl was missing, and she should have seen it coming. The taller redhead had after all. It was so stupid. Toni had known what the Blossoms were capable of – for God's sake, the whole _state_ probably knew what the Blossoms were capable of – and she had known that the redhead was endangered. The night of the slumber party had only exaggerated that.

So why hadn't she done anything?

She'd failed. And now she was just completely and utterly lost as to what to do.

It was half past eleven at night and Toni, for the first time in forever, had been let back to her uncle's. It wasn't like they'd made up or anything – to be honest, she was struggling to place a finger on what exactly she'd done wrong that last time she'd been locked out, besides _exist_ of course – but at least she wasn't a burden on somebody else tonight. She hated the small room she couldn't really call her own and the sharp stench of vodka mixing with vomit, sweat and old, unwashed linen in the air but she knew that whatever Cheryl was facing was probably a million times worse than what she was putting up with – and she didn't say that lightly.

Still, trying her best to be hopeful, she picked up her phone from the floor, turning it on for the sake of one last text, one last refresh, one last message on every social media platform she knew Cheryl had, and one last voicemail.

And maybe, Toni thought it herself as she pressed down on to call the redhead's number, this time she would be successful in her attempt...

* * *

That had been over a week ago now.

Tonight she wasn't sat in bed, hands shaking ever so slightly in a combination of anticipation, fear and desperation for the other girl. _No._ For these past couple of days, late nights in a stuffy bar, choking on cigarette smoke, ears bleeding from the constant rowdiness (not to mention that exposure to the all-too-familiar smell of cheap alcohol) had been becoming to feel like a blessing and the four-to-closing shift meant that she had eight, maybe nine, hours of thoughts not straying too far from the fucking job she had to do to support herself.

Eight or nine hours, that was, lacking the endless, helpless, painful-to-visualise theories of where in this world Cheryl was at.

Minus the thirty minute break she was now being sent on.

And now, typically she was thinking of how she'd been spending her work breaks before shit happened – texting Cheryl, that was.

 _Great._ Now she was _thinking_ about it.

It was kind of inevitable. Every shift she would (as she had been ever since they'd started the whole friendship aspect of whatever this was or was going to end up being) head straight over to her old bag stuffed with clothes and whatever else she may have needed in the corner of the back store room, grab her phone from the front pocket and then make her way over to the upturned crate in the corner that she'd learnt long ago had the best reception.

Then she could wait.

Sometimes she would stand on her tiptoes with her arm outstretched as far as she could reach in desperation to find even one bar of signal in the dark, musty room. It used to be the basement she'd have gone to, but now... _well_ , nobody went down there unless they absolutely had to. Surprisingly, there had been better signal in that place under the fricking ground than in this one which just so happened to be right next to a telephone pole.

Maybe a text would come in, one or two social media stuff, something Fangs or someone had tagged her in – whatever.

It wasn't like she was expecting there to be a chain of messages from Cheryl, but her heart still didn't fail to drop when no ding of a notification came through, Toni knowing full well that it wasn't just at the fault of the crappy south side signal. Instead, her lock screen, that selfie of them at the sleepover what felt like ages ago, the last and one of the only photos they'd taken together, staring back at her almost hauntingly. It was like staring at a ghost in some weird way; she was _gone_ , but she _wasn't_ , but she _might_ be, and she didn't know where she _was_... and for whatever stupid reason, she was blaming herself for all of this shit.

Before she could help it, not even really realising in that moment in time, Cheryl's number was ringing. _Oh well_ , she thought, _too much effort to press that red circle now._

Maybe it wasn't such a case of effort, after all...

She couldn't _not_ try. She couldn't give up... not now, not when the redhead probably needed someone to check up more than ever. Maybe she _was_ a serpent, but she was far from being a cruel person.

One hundred and nineteen missed calls on, she was used to the same old routine.

Cheryl's phone would obviously be off so it wouldn't ring at all.

Instead, the answer phone message would play immediately. It was all Toni had of Cheryl's voice besides the memory which she wouldn't bear to let fade. Maybe those things combined combined with that single image were all she'd ever have left of the other girl...

She shook her head violently. _No._ She wasn't going to think like that. She couldn't put up with the other girl being abandoned in that way, at a time when she needed someone the most. She knew what that was like and she couldn't wish it on even some of her world enemies.

She could recall every word and the exact tone and tempo each bit was said at. Sad, she knew that, but when life kicks at and drags away someone who you lo— _are close to,_ it's hard to do anything other than uselessly call up the number of a switched-off phone ( _no_ – a _battery-dead_ one, she forced upon herself, because Cheryl never turned her phone off) what felt like a million times a day, so of course she'd find herself learning the message to the breath eventually.

 _'You've reached Cheryl Blossom, who is currently either unavailable or just doesn't want to speak to you right now,'_ – Toni smirked to that in the way she always had done, supposing that it was maybe designated to one of those irritating younger Vixens and definitely designated to her mother – _'I might get back to you if I think you should deserve that, but If don't... then you should probably try someone else. If you really happen to require me, I guess you should use your instincts and leave a message._

It was so Cheryl. That front Toni hated her putting on radiated off every syllable.

It was also probably the very reason why nobody else had bat an eyelid when the other girl had apparently disappeared off the edge of of the world recently.

Because, of course, that attitude made people breathe a sigh of relief whenever she wasn't around.

Toni rolled her eyes and groaned – as proven, the redhead's HBIC facade definitely held more limitations than advantages.

"Hey," leaned back on her hand, shocked at just how weak and sore and croaky her voice sounded. She hadn't realised the tears welling in her eyes or the mountain-sized lump forming. "Hey, it's me, Toni."

She paused.

 _Why?_

Why did she pause? Was she waiting for a response or something stupid like that? This was a fucking _voicemail_ , however much as she wished it was a legitimate conversation she was having with the other girl, and Cheryl would chirp out whatever bourgeoisie greeting she had sitting on tip of her tongue.

A forced, humourless laugh followed that. She really did not give two shits about some stupid result. Schoolwork just made her think about Cheryl. She now understand why Cheryl studied weeks ahead of the class: it was good distraction, especially when there's a lot for you to catch up on anyway. It wasn't exactly as if there had been much else to do other than that, anway. School. Work. Serpent work. More schoolwork. Work. Serpents. More schoolwork Work. Repeat. The 'more schoolwork' elements in the system were the periods she'd usually have spent being with, or talking to Cheryl. It left an empty space in her life, a hole which needed to be filled... a hole which didn't only exist in her life, but also in her heart. Cheryl's likely equivalent of that gap which schoolwork had now filled would have been the constant oppression and abuse from her parents and her grief for her bereaved brother.

Another deep, shuddering breath rattled her ribcage.

"Veronica's been looking after your Vixens. She's been trying to think of a new routine," Cheryl, despite hurling insults to them constantly, loved her Vixens. Her position as HBIC – however typical 2000's chick-flick 'popular girl' that position read as – was something she openly took pride in. "It won't be as good as your ones, of course, but it will give you less to worry about for when I find you and this mess is over."

 _When this mess is over._ When, will that be – soon, or...?

"I think they miss you."

She couldn't prevent the waiver in her voice as a single tear slipped past her eyelids. She tried her hardest yet struggled to keep her voice steady as she continued.

"I know that _I_ miss you," Toni bit into her fist to stifle the sob which threatened came with that. "I miss you _so_ much. I don't think I've ever missed anything as much as I miss you right now."

She missed her parents, but she – as much as she hated to admit it – had grown used to their missing part in her life. If that happened with Cheryl and eventually they went so long without each other that the gap began to close...

 _No._ That _wasn't_ going to happen. She was going to find Cheryl, and they'd live happily ever after. Just like in the movies.

Well, the movies which had happy endings, anyway.

"I don't know where you are and I'm really, really worried about you."

She was worried. _No_ – she was scared. So fucking _scared_. What if she was hurt? Lonely? She couldn't bear to think it but... what if she was _worse_ than all of that?

Was there a superlative for 'scared'? If there was then that described her state to some minor extent.

"I know you can't hear this right now but if you somehow – _God knows how_ – happen to get this message I want you to know that I—" _no, not now_ "—I know that your mother has done something to you and I can't place a finger on what it could be but I'm trying to and I'm not going to stop until I find you."

Little point in trying to stay brave now.

"And I am going to find you. I promise that I'm going to find you."

 _'A serpent never shows cowardice'_ – she lived and died by those laws. Well, maybe that made her dead. She felt like she was barely breathing without Cheryl, anyway.

The three minute mark was approaching – probably, anyway; the clock on the wall was broken and it had been for years, stopped with the big hand on twelve and the hour hand perfectly midway between ten and twelve making it impossible to know which hour it had been when it had stopped working (also suggesting that it had been broken well before that point). Maybe it had already passed and she was rambling on with some rubbish to her own self. Who knew?

Seconds passed without a word being spoken. She was coming to her end. Her voice was long gone and every effort to suppress the tears had failed. Toni was already fumbling around in the bottom of her bag for some mascara and make up wipes to reapply, hoping that nobody noticed the slight redness to her chocolate brown eyes in the weirdly lit room she'd have to walk back in soon. Not even Fangs or Sweet Pea would be sober enough to take notice of minor imperfections like that right now, and she swore they had a sixth sense for her or something. Toni assumed that was a benefit. She didn't really want to out her crush on (or whatever it was now) Cheryl right now. That would be a story for another occasion.

 _One... two... three... four..._

If only time had been so precious this time last week.

 _Eight... nine..._

"I lo—"

 _Bleep. Too late._

And that was it. The pink-haired girl stood up, brushing her jeans down from the sawdust and wiping any remnants of tears from her cheeks. One bitten lip and the faint smile was back. One last glance at her lock screen and her phone was back in her bag for another two or three hours. One last deep breath...

Maybe next Saturday she'd be able to finish that sentence directly.


End file.
